To live, is my dream, my one and only wish,
but alas, that dream the world won’t furnish.
I live, not as lively as I’d ever would;
and I’m starting to wonder if I ever could.
I just want to open my wings and fly to the sky,
escape this madhouse, the lonely, misfit I.
I want to be exotic, without being told how,
I’d want to be anything but me, even a crow.
I want to sing, and I want to dance, and I want to run
across the fields of golden wheat, and on and on …
I want to be, as no one has ever been.
I want to dream of a land so green …
I want to cry, with my head held high,
and over the winds to whisper a sigh.
Eccentricities of an exotic soul,
too low for a dream, too high for a goal.
My past in one hand, my future in the other,
and with neither should I ever again bother,
so long as I can foresee the present
and look at myself and foretell what I’ve spent.
I just hope that for this madness I’ve not overpaid
though too grievous were what aside I’ve laid …
Under the crescent moon to God I prayed,
and by all the rules I carefully played,
lest it all becomes nothing, all this that I did,
and all my belongings I lovingly hid,
in the darkest corner of all there is.
But the wicked winds would never cease.
And I discovered that I had to plow
ahead and ahead, even as a crow …
Oh … all those things I so wanted, all those dreams …
And I’ve finally become unstitched at the seems …
To live, is my dream, my one and only wish,
but alas, that dream the world won’t furnish.
“Eccentricities of an exotic soul,
too low for a dream, too high for a goal.”
I love the passion behind this verse. Have you ever tried writing poetry from the heart like this without the need to rhyme? It might free you up a bit more, but then again, it may make it harder for you to structure…
A lovely read. x